


Flowers

by LoveChilde



Category: White Collar
Genre: Anniveraries, Collection: Purimgifts Day 2, Community: purimgifts, El deserves flowers, Gen, canon character "death"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-25 04:52:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6180886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoveChilde/pseuds/LoveChilde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every year, on the anniversary of Neal's release from prison, he buys El flowers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flowers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elrhiarhodan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elrhiarhodan/gifts).



On the first anniversary of his release from prison, Neal sent Elizabeth flowers. 

“You sent my wife flowers?” Peter cornered him the next morning in the elevator going up to their floor and crowded him against the wall, “What the hell, Neal?”

“She’s put up with me for a year.” Neal was his usual unflappable self. “She’s put up with you being preoccupied with me for much longer. She deserves some flowers.” 

Peter had to concede that Neal had a point, there. Besides, El had liked the flowers. 

He kept it up, every year on the anniversary of his release. The year he ran away and celebrated the anniversary in Cape Verde, Neal ordered some flowers for El about as soon as they were home and recovered. It was a bigger bouquet than usual, with a short note of apology for what he’d put them through, in elegant calligraphy on heavy paper. El saved the note and the ribbon that came with it in the box Peter used to keep all the birthday and anniversary cards Neal had sent him from prison and afterwards. 

***

After Neal died, El didn’t even think about it until right before the date of the anniversary. And suddenly it was coming up, and she was pregnant and hormonal and every time she thought about not getting flowers on the anniversary, she would die a little inside, and get up from whatever she was doing and go somewhere she could be alone, because it upset Peter to see her cry, and because if she told him why she was crying it would break his heart. Peter’s heart had already been trampled on enough, he didn’t need her to add to it. 

When she woke up on the day of the anniversary, there were flowers on the bedside table. For a moment, El’s heart gave a tiny jump in her chest, just over the baby, and hope bubbled in her that maybe it had all been an ugly dream. As she sat up in bed and picked the bouquet up, she knew it hadn’t been. Peter walked in, toothbrush in hand, barefoot. He smiled wanly when he saw she was awake, his eyes a little red.

“I thought- I thought you’d miss not getting flowers.” 

She looked down, pretending to smell the roses until she was sure she wouldn’t start bawling. She missed so much more than the flowers. 

She was at work when a delivery man came in with another large bouquet, all blue and purple flowers with silvery baby’s breath like sea foam on waves. The note was from Mozzie, terse and to the point, ‘Neal would’ve wanted you to still have flowers today.’

Fortunately there was nobody at the office with her, and she didn’t need to explain why some flowers made her fall apart.   
June sent a vase full of calla lilies and bright purple tulips, big bold flowers in big bold colors. “We remember, honey.” Was the note. El put it next to Mozzie’s, wiped her eyes and went on with her day.

Clinton showed up at her office late in the day and shyly held out a single red and white carnation. By that point El was exhausted, but also calm enough. “Oh, you shouldn’t have.” 

“I wanted to. I-” He noticed the room behind her and his expression turned sheepish. “I guess I wasn’t the only one?”

“You weren’t.” She smiled for the first time that day, and tucked the carnation in her top buttonhole. “But I appreciate it. I appreciate all of you doing this. Thanks, Clinton.” 

***

At first, El wasn’t sure Peter and Mozzie’s conspiracy theory made any sense. She thought that they were in denial, still, and clutching on any lead they could imagine for Neal not to be dead. It was all too neat, too carefully planned, and yet relied too much on luck for even Neal to be able to pull off. 

And then, six weeks later, she got a huge bouquet of bright red, orange and yellow flowers, huge sunbursts of color that filled up the living room and made baby Neal shriek with excitement. Attached to the flowers was a card of heavy paper; no words, but a gorgeously detailed hand drawing of a phoenix, highlighted in gold El suspected was real. 

El laughed. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Still not mine.   
> Pheonix drawing is by WhiteRaven90 on Deviant Art, http://whiteraven90.deviantart.com/art/Sketch-of-a-phoenix-52323377 (check out all her lovely art on http://whiteraven90.deviantart.com/)
> 
> Happy Purim, again!


End file.
